


Amo, Animula

by JLBRD



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JLBRD/pseuds/JLBRD
Summary: For once in her life, she’s not scared.Of letting someone in.Of letting someone stay.Thirty goddamn years sound good to her.
Relationships: Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	1. Floreo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neighborhoodspaceman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neighborhoodspaceman/gifts).



> inspired yet again by [this.](https://twitter.com/baddestmamajama/status/1199796733741432833)  
> these two won't let me live

Ask anyone in her life, and the description of her will be almost unanimously that _Debbie Ocean is an unflappable, stone-cold, I-only-wear-neutrals felon who forces herself to drink vodka because of two people_ (only one still lives and breathes, maybe) _when she really prefers tequila, will pet any stray cat but will physically flinch when jumped by a dog of any size, and can eat her weight in ice cream._

Those who know those facts about her already know too much, she’d say. But one secret she’ll take to the grave is that she really, _really fucking loves family time._

It takes a lot of scars to make one value those moments.

-x-

Circa a lifetime ago, young Lou Miller double, triple texts one Deborah Ocean right before Thanksgiving.

_“hey you”_

_“plans later ?”_

_“ofc. can’t miss my momma’s turkey”_

_“gotcha. have fun then”_

_“have a slice of pie for me. x”_

She goes dark after these messages, but Debbie assumes she’s got her own family to _tolerate_ for a few hours.

Little does she know that it only takes 4 hours to ride from LA to Vegas.

And so, setting the Ocean household on high alert, the doorbell rings.

-x-

_Two nights ago:_

Hours after meeting, hours after coming to a silent understanding, hours after committing thefts, but only mere minutes after committing new sounds and mapping skin to memory, Lou tucks her shirt tails back into leather pants – a tight fit, but she’s found ways to make it work – she asks, “This is against criminal code, but do you live around here?”

Debbie, spent and sprawled, tries to catch her breath and deflects as she usually does – hot blonde who just tipped her over the edge an unfathomable number of times be damned – retorting cheekily, “What, you sending me a package for Christmas or something?”

Lou chuckles, “yeah, or something.”

Debbie hums, non-committal.

She’ll figure it out.

-x-

Figure it out she did.

(She wanted to cop a feel, but also have some mashed potato and gravy. Sue her.)

Mama Ocean opens the door, takes the time to set her posture to be ostentatiously friendly.

“Hi, can I help you?”

She must take too long to answer (it has approximately been all of 2 minutes) and come back to the table – unusual behaviour – and backup comes in the form of her husband.

Her husband _with a glock trained on their guest._

She rolls her eyes.

It’s a lanky blonde holding a bottle of vodka and a pot of purple lilacs in front of her, hardly a threat, what with her fidgeting under her gaze.

“Who the hell are you?”

Debbie’s curiosity piqued, she darts from the kitchen to the door.

Rushing when she sees who’s there.

“WAIT, DON’T SHOOT HER!”

“Why not?”

“That’s uh.. that’s, um, my Lou.” Mortified, she waits for the ground to swallow her whole.

“Your who?”

“We met two nights ago when I was in California,” as if that helps explain why a practical stranger is here, so she squirms slightly, feeling like a toddler being scolded.

Danny makes his presence known at the commotion, laughing loudly, but cringing all the same at his sister’s poor damage control. He finally decides to intervene; he doesn’t feel like cleaning up guts today. (On Thanksgiving? Barbaric.) “Pops, cool it.”

He puts the gun down, relaxing slightly. “It was unloaded, anyway. Come on in. Diana, stop flirting with our daughter’s date then, for christ’s sake.”

“Oh, we were just chatting. Look, she brought your favourite vodka. I don’t know what you’re accusing me of,” waving their – Debbie’s – guest in, smirking the way Oceans do when they’re up to no good.

It’s going to be a long day for everybody.

-x-

From that day on, mama Ocean takes any and all opportunity to flirt relentlessly with Lou, constantly telling her daughter she picked a good one. She does approve, truly.

But mostly, she does it to fuck with her husband; you don’t see the head of a mob pouting and sulking every day.

Lou decides to turn the charm way up now that her life isn’t being threatened anymore.

She claims, “if that’s what you’re gonna look like thirty years from now, honey, I’m sticking around,” voice teasing, but eyes gleaming in sincerity that Debbie can do nothing but drag her to bed and have her way with Lou.

For once in her life, she’s not scared.

Of letting someone in. Of letting someone stay.

Thirty goddamn years sound good to her.


	2. Spirabilis

History: The one thing you can’t take away from anyone, the one thing no one can change.

No wonder history hurts so damn much.

Debbie was in a prison of her own making long before she was caged in a cell. There’s not much that one could focus on when one is miserable other than the finer, much higher points of life, naturally. Humans love to suffer.

And so, she looks back.

_That one week around Christmas when Debbie was sick and they spent day in and day out in pyjamas, getting out of bed only for showers and fresh clothes, and in Lou’s case, making food, grabbing prescription for the terrible patient in the form of her girl._

_That one Thanksgiving when they went to a petting zoo and decided to go vegetarian (with mild success) the very same night because Debbie went on and on about Victor the turkey, wouldn’t stop saying, ‘that look will haunt me for the rest of my life.’ Lou grumbles, accepting defeat. ‘Their first mistake was naming them,’ as Debbie already thinks of an updated grocery list including lots of tofu._

_That one Valentine’s day when they had to run out of the house with only bed sheets covering them after the fire department came. Some explanation was mumbled out, but words like “sweet,” “candles,” “stupid curtains,” were thrown around, which makes sense considering the date. Old school romance never was for them._

_That one new year’s when the Oceans and Lou were on a yacht in Spain and they’ve never experienced freedom quite the same way since, with the breeze tickling away at their skin, the sun shining so brightly seemingly just for them that warmth seeped into their bones and stayed a while._

_That one birthday when they went paint-balling in an abandoned factory and had such a close match that Debbie hated the loss immensely. “You distracted me,” Debbie grumps, falling into her lover anyway for comfort. Lou more than made up for it later on._

But shit happens. You know – you break up with the love of your life, you have bad sex with other people, you make money, you go to jail, you don’t see aforementioned love of your life for seven years, then you get out of jail.

Normal, everyday shit.

There have been a lot of missed Christmases, Thanksgiving lunches and dinners, Valentine’s, New Year’s, birthdays.

And she aches to make up for all of them.

She may have lost everyone in her family, but she can only hope that she hasn’t lost the one that matters most.

That’s how Debbie finds herself double, triple texting Lou.

Laughing to herself, remembering all those years ago. Years before the pain, but also years before they knew happiness, contentment with each other.

_Where’s the fkn cemetery? 12pm?_

She may have cemented her place in hell, but for the first time in a long time, if not ever… she prays.

(She better respond.)

-x-

(She does respond.)

300 million dollars and some change later. Change has done them some good.

Some things have not changed at all, Debbie thinks as she looks out over to their backyard.

They may have barbed wire for picket fences – cold, unlike Lou – but the vivacity, the greenery is all Lou.

It all started with that first visit.

-x-

_“What’s this?” Taking the proffered pot of (admittedly) pretty purple flowers._

_“Something to care for.”_

_“…Okay.”_ _Does it look like she needs that? “You’re the best. Thank you for coming all this way.”_

_She smiles, not really understanding._

_Lou smiles back, knowing Debbie doesn’t understand. Not yet._

-x-

Over the years, the plants become their inside joke of sorts. Blue hyacinths were a hit, especially. Debbie eventually amasses so many that Tammy couldn’t help but comment when they first started working together.

“Why do you have an abundance of… loyalty plants?”

“So many what now?”

“Google is your best friend, Debbie.”

“Nooo, Lou is.”

-x-

One night, Rose becomes (rightfully) curious about the contrast of the loft and the exuberance available just about five feet away. Not the beach, but the manicured yard, which seems unimaginable in their location.

“Who knew you had such a thumb so green one would suspect you shoved it up a leprechaun’s arse?”

“Don’t be crass. If anything, Lou’s the one doing the thumb shoving—”

“ _Way_ too much information, dear. Extremely vivid.”

“I wasn’t finished. We discovered fairly quickly that cacti die under my watch. Lou gets me all these plants and takes care of them, too.”

“Ah, see, that makes sense. The vineyard in the back that rivals Napa Valley can only be maintained by someone who cares so deeply. Like Lou.”

-x-

Thirty years later, Lou proposes with yet another pot of daffodils.

As a matter of fact, there's an entire garden full of them, merely a small section of Lou's hard work.

“They're for new beginnings,” she whispers. “Are you ready for this? Us, middle-aged, filthy rich, mildly aching, but still have so much life left?”

Debbie swears she didn’t cry, but Debbie also lies for a living.

Of course, _of course_ , the speech ends with, “Who else is going to water the plants? Didn’t I say that I was sticking around?”

“You and your dumb plants. And yes, you did say that, but only under the condition that I look exactly like mom at this age,” Debbie elbows her rib, Lou fakes a scowl, holding her side.

_(Rule #81 of making Debbie happy: exaggerating an injury inflicted by her is amusing, but pretending it doesn’t hurt when she causes damage isn’t as fun for either party.)_

Lou wrinkles her nose, the joke not ageing well. Debbie has, though.

She swears she’s not biased. For the most part.

“They’re not dumb. Don’t be so rude, I know you love the colours and different smells.”

“They don’t compare to your smell, baby. But also, I’ve been googling every single one’s meanings. How am I only finding out happy fucking soft and sappy you’ve gotten, always have been. Yet I love you way more than I ever have.”

“Ah. About time, Jailbird,” Lou kisses her head. “I thought so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on tumblr @ jl-brd! come be my friend. (pls.)


End file.
